


More of a Father

by caldera32



Category: White Collar
Genre: 4x16, Blood, Canon Divergence, Gen, Guns, Gunshot Wounds, Hurt/Comfort, In The Wind, Medical Procedures
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-24
Updated: 2016-12-05
Packaged: 2018-09-01 21:39:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 7,383
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8639020
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/caldera32/pseuds/caldera32
Summary: Neal's confrontation with his father goes a little differently than he had planned and James does something he might regret. (An alternate ending for 4x16 "In the Wind")





	1. Chapter 1

Neal lowered the phone, hands shaky as he tucked it into the inner pocket of his jacket.

"What did you do, Dad?" His eyebrows rose, inquiring, and his body took on a challenging stance. "They arrested Peter for Pratt's murder. What did you do?"

"It was self defense."

He was calm, too calm for someone who had just killed a man and fled the scene only to be caught attempting to destroy evidence of another murder.

The younger man looked away from his father disappointed and trying to hide how upset he was at the situation, then walked toward him, imploring with voice and expression.

"All you have to do is tell the truth and Peter goes free."

James looked back at him, serene, and shook his head.

"I can't do it," he says as if it's obvious. "I can't let the bureau put a murder weapon back in my hand."

"The bureau doesn't believe him; he was investigating Pratt off-book. You're the only other person who knows what happened."

"They'll cuff me, Neal. Once they get me... I'll never get away."

The way he said that - so matter-of-fact, voice barely raised - told the CI just how little hope he had of changing the other man's mind. But he still had to try. The desperation showed in his voice, in the way he demanded rather than trying to talk James into coming around on his own.

"You're gonna testify, and you're gonna clear Peter's name."

Another shake of the head, as if it didn't even matter that tears threatened to fall from his son's eyes.

"You show me you're better than this! You show me you're a decent man."

"The things I've done-"

"Are in the past!" He was breathing heavily now, barely able to see out of his watery eyes. He wanted to blink but knew it would only cause the tears to start falling in earnest.

James took a deep breath as if considering the other man's words.

"I'm sorry so-"

Neal reached out, taking hold of his father who had turned to leave.

"Dad, please, do this for me-"

"Don't!" James barked as he roughly freed himself and Neal stepped back, shocked and slightly frightened by the sudden change from calm to hostile.

"Don't make me do something I'll regret."

James' voice had a cold, hard edge to it now and Neal stared at him as if he were a stranger - and perhaps he was. Perhaps he had never truly met the man standing in front of him. His heart broke as James once more faced the door.

Before his body informed his brain exactly what it was doing, Neal found himself tackling the ex-cop to the floor. They tumbled haphazardly around the apartment upsetting the easel, rolling over the coffee table, and smashing against the bookcase.

Neal had youth on his side, but James had training and the willingness to do harm.

That being the case it wasn't too long before James gained the advantage, forcing Neal far enough away for him to pull his gun.

_How did I not notice he had a gun?_

Neal's mind went blank, thoughts nothing more than a wash of white as he stared at the gun. Normally this would have been the time he started talking _more_ , but this was different; this was his _father_. The fact that he had recently learned just how much it hurts to get shot did not help the situation.

A hint of emotion finally showed on Bennett's face as he held the pistol steady.

"I hadn't intended to do this," he said softly, then pulled the trigger.

Neal's eyes widened in disbelief, he didn't feel the pain yet but his body knew something had gone spectacularly wrong and his hands rose automatically to clutch at the wound.

James watched with only a hint of sadness as his son sank to his knees before toppling sideways to land in an awkward heap, blood blossoming on his shirt as tears flowed from blue eyes that were fixed on the wall in shock.

"Goodbye, Neal."


	2. Chapter 2

June stepped out of the car and bid farewell to her driver, pug in one hand and clutch in the other.

Turning to walk to her front door she recognized the figure of Neal's father some distance ahead on the sidewalk, presumably having just finished visiting with his son after the day's events.

She briefly considered calling out, but decided there was no reason to be anything more than civil with him. There was just _something_ about James Bennett that rubbed her the wrong way - though she would never say as much to Neal. He fawned over that man.

Shaking her head she sighed and let herself in, excited to hear how everything had gone.

Once Bugsy had been handed over to a maid she climbed the stairs, anticipation making her steps lively.

Susurrations, the barest suggestion of Neal's voice, reached her as she topped the stairwell - though she couldn't make out the words. Was he not alone?

Well, the door was open so it could hardly be anything private.

A twinkle in her eye, June stepped into the doorway.

"So, how did- Neal!"

All levity fled when she spotted the body on the floor, bloody hands fumbling with a cell phone.

Unfocused eyes swiveled toward her as she sank down beside him before taking the phone and calling 911.

Clearly not aware of exactly what was happening, Neal reached out for the phone, coughing up blood in a fine mist as he tried to speak.

June shushed him as she pressed her own aged hands against the bullet hole, what had been Byron's suit jacket now serving as an impromptu bandage, and waited for a voice to come through the speakerphone.

It seemed entirely too long before her call was answered, but she knew it was miraculously quick for a city like New York.

She gave their location and described Neal's condition as best she could; gunshot wound slightly to the right of the chest's center bleeding heavily, coughing up blood, bruises on his face, difficulty breathing. There was no exit wound as far as she could tell, but she couldn't check without moving him and there was too much risk of spinal injury to do so.

Following the dispatcher's instructions she sealed the wound with a sheet of acetate from Neal's art supplies to prevent air from getting in and collapsing a lung. Once the plastic was in place his breaths seemed to ease slightly and his gaze cleared as he stared at June. He reached for the phone now resting on the floorboards, inadvertently disconnecting it as he pressed his fingers against the screen and choked out a few words in a sound that resembled gasping more than actual speech.

"P- Peter... needs- this."

Misinterpreting his intentions, June assured Neal she would call Peter and picked up the cell to do just that.

"No... needs..."

Strength spent, the conman's body relaxed against the floor, eyes half-closing and jaw going slack despite his desperate attempts to communicate.

"Neal? Neal!"

He wasn't quite unconscious, but still found himself completely unable to reassure June as she frantically felt for a pulse.

Neal watched, a prisoner in his own body as his benefactor picked Peter's number from the contact list and waited anxiously before leaving a message and hanging up to dial Diana.

...

"Neal? Did you get him?"

Agent Berrigan's voice was at once unnaturally loud and strangely muffled in his in-between state.

"Diana, it's June..." If he could, Neal might have smiled at her casual address of the agent many people found intimidating. "Something's happened."

"...June? What's wrong? Why are you using Neal's phone?"

June; wonderful strong woman that she was, let out a slight sob as she gave the bad news.

"Neal's been shot. I- I think James may have done it."

The voice at the other end was clipped, precise.

"I'll be right there."


	3. Chapter 3

Diana arrived just in time to lead the EMTs up the stairs to Neal's apartment, comforting June as they both moved out of the way.

It only took a few minutes for them to assess his condition, carefully transfer him to a board, and carry him out to the ambulance. Agent Berrigan had a moment's uncertainty – the marshals wouldn't appreciate that no one was keeping an eye on the CI, but there were more important things to be done.

"June, did you see where James went?"

"I didn't watch him long, but he was walking toward downtown when I saw him." She spotted something on the floor, just outside the pool of blood. "His phone... he seemed concerned about his phone – said Peter needed it?"

Pulling on a glove, Diana slipped the red-smudged device into an evidence bag and manipulated the screen through the plastic. Nothing unexpected in phone history or notes, but there was a recording. Hardly daring to hope, the agent pressed "play".

She held her breath as the sounds of argument and confrontation came out, ending just after June's arrival. Closing the app, she emailed the sound file to several addresses as she called Jones on her own phone to update him.

"You get our boss back - I'll take care of Bennett." Diana hung up and turned to June. "There will be agents here soon; will you be alright?"

June's voice was firm though she didn't look quite as poised as usual.

"I'll just clean up and go to the hospital; you make sure that man regrets ever showing his face here."

Diana nodded and rushed out the door.

* * *

Peter sat in the back of a car with Callaway's lackeys on either side while the woman herself argued with Jones outside. He found himself inventing possible escape strategies and blamed the impulse on Neal's anklet – it must have passed on some of its usual wearer's restlessness.

Things could never just go according to plan. At least Neal hadn't been the one found with Pratt; there would have been no coming back from that. He snorted.

_There might not be a way out for me, either. Sorry about dinner, El._

One of his guards shifted but both remained silent, avoiding his gaze.

Street noise broke his musings as Callaway wrenched open the door and stuck her hand in front of him.

"Key," she demanded.

"Pardon?"

"The key to the anklet."

Peter handed it over. It wasn't a big deal, he always had a spare, but he couldn't imagine why she wanted it now.

"James Bennett has confessed to shooting Pratt, but I'm still not convinced you're entirely innocent in this. You're going to be wearing that until everything is straightened out."

A pointless gesture with questionable legality.

"You've caught him?"

Callaway hesitated, clearly unwilling to share details.

"No. Agent Berrigan has submitted a recording of his confession."

"Diana? How-"

The door slammed, cutting off his question. Callaway reappeared in the driver's seat soon afterward but ignored him for the rest of the drive to the Bureau.

...

Peter brooded in his seat as Callaway started the briefing; Agents Jones and Berrigan were absent.

"James Bennett," a picture of the man from his 'assault' on Pratt flashed up on screen, "has been recorded confessing to the murder of Senator Pratt. He was last seen leaving the residence of one June Ellington."

The familiar building joined James' photo. Peter had a bad feeling about this.

"Agents Berrigan and Jones are searching the area with their teams as we speak and a BOLO has been posted. We will be joining the efforts. Use extreme caution; he has already shot two men today – we don't want to make it three."

"Two?" He couldn't help interrupting; it was a wonder he'd even managed to stay in his seat with the way his gut was twisting.

"Mr. Caffrey was injured in his attempt to convince his father to turn himself in."

The dispassionate way she said that made him want to strangle her.

"How badly is he hurt?"

"Caffrey is none of your concern right now, Burke, and do keep in mind that – as you currently do not have a badge or gun – you are little more than a civilian. You are only here because of your knowledge of Bennett and his plans."

"I don't know anything about his _plans_." His jaw was starting to hurt from being clenched.

"Then you can spend this time in an interrogation room."

"But I do know a bit about _him_." He willed himself to relax, trying to put Neal out of his mind for the moment. "He's been on the run for a long time, but he doesn't have a lot of class or technique. He probably doesn't know he was recorded. Has any other evidence been recovered from June's?"

"Records linking both Bennett and Senator Pratt to illicit activities." She clicked a remote and scans of the papers replaced James and the apartment.

"Then he's back on the run. If we lock down the city he won't be able to get out - he simply doesn't have the skills or finesse. He'd probably go to ground in some hole in the wall. We can catch him if we move fast enough."

Callaway considered him for a moment, then nodded.

"Roberts, Emerson – you two take your teams and support Berrigan and Jones. The rest of you are with me."

Peter made to follow.

"You're staying here." Callaway shut him in the conference room and locked the door. Another pointless gesture.

"Could I at least get some coffee?" He called after her retreating form, receiving no reaction.

Then he was alone.

Alone and worried.


	4. Chapter 4

June sat in the hospital chair clenching her gloves in both hands. Neal had already been in surgery when she arrived and she'd received no word about his condition. She'd passed some of the time in calling Elizabeth, but had had to leave a message. It felt like hours later when a doctor appeared.

"Family of Neal Caffrey?" He eyed June, dubious.

"Yes." Her tone and expression dared him to argue. He didn't.

"We performed surgery to remove the bullet and repair the damage to his lungs. There's a thoracostomy in place to keep his lung from deflating and we'll be keeping an eye on him. I don't think he'll need a ventilator but they may put him on one overnight if his breathing hasn't improved in recovery. We'll have him propped up in bed for now, but hopefully he'll be able to move to a chair soon – it helps prevent complications."

June smiled.

"So he's going to be okay?"

"He's on antibiotics to prevent infection and he seems to be doing well. I make no promises, but as long as there are no more problems he could be out of here in a week or less." The doctor returned her grin.

"Oh, thank you." She planted a quick kiss on the man's cheek. "May I see him?"

The doctor nodded.

"He'll probably be asleep for a while, but check in at the desk and they can tell you where he's being placed."

June thanked the doctor again and made her way to the desk, then to Neal's room. The other three beds were occupied, but all four patients seemed to be sleeping despite the sounds of _Family Feud_ playing behind one of the curtains. As the attendants left she pulled a chair up to the bed and held Neal's hand, careful not to disturb any of the tubes or wires, and watched the comforting lines of the heart monitor.

"How is he?"

Elizabeth was standing in the door. June rose and embraced her.

"He hasn't been awake yet, but the doctor said he could be out in a week or less."

"That's good."

Elizabeth reached out and brushed a stray lock of hair from Neal's forehead.

"They arrested Peter."

"Whatever for?" June brought a second chair and they both sat.

"I didn't get all the details, but they think he shot the senator."

June had overheard Diana's call to Agent Jones and knew that something was wrong, but she hadn't realized it was quite so serious.

"Don't you worry," she patted the younger woman's arm. "Neal recorded James confessing to shooting that man. Peter will be free soon enough."

Elizabeth's smile was wistful as she took Neal's hand.

"I knew I shouldn't have made dinner reservations."

* * *

Neal's phone rang and Diana answered.

"Lady suit? Why do you have Neal's phone?"

"Bennett shot Caffrey and made a run for it. Talk to me, Haversham."

She could practically feel the conflict in the man's silence, but he'd already crossed one line in speaking to her at all when he was expecting Neal.

"I know a few places he may go."

Diana rolled her eyes when the call cut off without any further conversation, but for Neal the little guy could be trusted to cooperate.

"Let's check inside." She gestured at the rundown boarding house to her right and the agents with her nodded.

This was turning into one seriously long day.


	5. Chapter 5

Peter had restlessly flipped through the remaining slides - more photos of James, June's house, and Pratt – and started up the sound file linked at the end. He listened as Neal pleaded with his father, not even realizing he was crushing the remote until the back popped off and the battery rolled onto the floor. He ignored it, waiting for the – _bang!_

The sound of James shooting his son and leaving him to die broke Peter from his trance and he scrambled for the battery, shoving it back into its channel and mashing the remote buttons until the sounds of Neal's suffering stopped.

_God, this is all my fault._ He sank onto a chair and buried his face in his hands. _If I hadn't convinced him to pursue this relationship with his father; if I hadn't helped..._ But no, this was James' doing – and he would be the one to pay. _He and Neal...What must he have felt when his own father-_

Peter cursed and launched himself back up to his feet, pacing like a caged tiger. Callaway had confiscated his phone so he was left without news of what was happening – the office below empty aside from a pair of interns and an agent who studiously ignored his inquiries and glass-tapping. He was tempted to let himself into his office through the adjoining door, but didn't want to test the boundaries.

Needing a distraction, Peter pulled a tablet of paper from the window ledge and started writing out his statement. Might as well do something productive. After all, his people _would_ catch Bennett and Neal _would_ be just fine.

* * *

"You'd better be right about this, Haversham." Diana moved up beside Jones, tilting the phone so they could both hear. The two of them had just brought their teams to a seedy sports bar where James was supposedly downing one drink after another.

"I'm looking at him right now. If you wait any longer he'll either pass out or start waving his gun around – and I, for one, am in no mood for the second option."

"Get out of there; we're coming in in five." She disconnected the call, waiting a few moments before a short man with thick glasses, an absurd mustache, and a trucker's hat sauntered out the door and down the sidewalk.

Signals were exchanged and Jones stayed with her in front while his team covered the rear exit and hers the side windows.

"Everyone ready?" She waited as both groups gave confirmation over the radio. "We're going in."

The two of them paused inside the door, letting their eyes adjust to the dim lighting as they flashed their badges at an attendant who wanted to check their ID.

"He's at the bar," Jones pointed with his chin, surreptitiously pushing his jacket aside to hold his weapon. A few of the establishment's patrons noticed the action and shuffled away from the pair.

Their target was half-slumped over the bar, thumping an empty bottle against the top as he muttered to himself. His gun was nowhere in sight.

"James Bennett," Jones clapped a hand on the man's shoulder, squeezing hard. "You are under arrest for the murder of Senator Terrance Pratt. You have the right to remain silent; anything you say or do-"

The bottle almost made contact with Clinton's head as James twisted on his stool, lashing out and kicking the agent away from him.

Diana grabbed his outstretched arm and flipped him onto the floor, stepping on his right arm as she kept her gun trained on him.

"You alright, Jones?"

"Yeah." He looked down at Bennett, who had passed out. "Guess we'll finish the Miranda warning later."


	6. Chapter 6

Something was poking him in the side and it was getting really annoying. How was he supposed to sleep when – _Oh, that really hurts. Ow._

"Ugh..." He twitched and the pain magnified tenfold. It felt like his side was being ripped open. An embarrassing whimper escaped his lips.

"Oh, Neal, honey... here."

There was movement to his right. _Elizabeth?_ He cracked one eye open and saw her there, fiddling with something he couldn't identify through his lashes. Neal saw her hand approaching but still flinched in surprise when he felt it on his cheek.

"'liz-"

"Shhhhh. It's okay. Don't try to talk. It should feel better soon." She was carding her fingers through his hair now, but it was actually kind of nice...

The next time he opened his eyes it was his landlady beside him.

"June..."

She smiled at him, patting his hand.

"Good to see you awake, dear. Try to stay still – they had to put a chest tube in."

"Wha-?" He looked down, not investigating further when he saw the tube coming out of his hospital gown.

"Actually," Neal looked up to see a doctor coming through the doorway, "if he's careful and has the energy, it's good for him to move around a little bit – just so long as the tube remains free."

She picked up the chart at the end of the bed and examined it before taking a close look at her patient.

"Hello, Mr. Caffrey; I'm Dr. Klaen." She looked back at the chart for a moment. "You seem to be doing well; I see no need to put you on a respirator. How are you feeling?"

He vaguely remembered his chest hurting earlier, but nothing seemed amiss this time.

"Alright."

The doctor nodded.

"You'll probably be on bed rest for another day or so before we move you to a chair and start your respiratory therapy. Nothing too involved, probably just some deep breathing – though you may get an incentive spirometer to help with that. If all goes well you could be home in a week and fully recovered in three to four months."

Neal blinked, not quite conscious enough to take everything in. Dr. Klaen smiled.

"I can see you're tired so I'll leave you to rest." She replaced the chart at the foot of the bed. "Press the call button if you need anything."

Neal was asleep before the doctor reached the doorway.

* * *

"Peter..." Neal jerked awake to find it was nighttime, gingerly reaching up to wipe the sleep from his eyes along with the memory of the nightmare he'd just had.

"Go back to sleep," mumbled the patient next to him – the first sign he'd had that anyone was on the other side of the curtains.

He saw a pitcher and cup beside his bed but reaching made his wound pull and his battered muscles twitched uncomfortably. Feeling slightly guilty at disturbing the other person, he pressed the call button and waited for the nurse to arrive.

"Could you help me drink?" Normally he'd be ashamed at his uselessness, but for the moment the drugs were making him feel pretty okay with the world.

"Of course." She poured him some water and helped him slowly sip. "Would you like something to eat? The kitchen is closed but I could get you some broth from the coffee machine."

It didn't sound appealing in the least, but he was hungry.

"Please," he tried for a winning smile that must have been at least partially successful as the nurse winked at him when she said she'd "be right back".

He managed to finish off all of the "chicken soup" - which reminded him of instant ramen without the noodles - along with another cup of water before thanking the nurse and bidding her good night.

"Now shut up already," his neighbor muttered, shifting a bit before falling silent.

Neal sighed, brooding in silence until falling asleep once more.


	7. Chapter 7

The elevator dinged – and yes, the office was so quiet he even noticed _that_ – and Peter rose to see who had returned. Diana, Jones, and Callaway emerged from the elevator along with three other agents carrying someone he hoped was one James Bennett.

The group left his sight, moving toward the holding cells and interrogation rooms, and Peter watched the empty hallway for a few moments before he began pacing. How long would he have to wait for some information? This was inhumane!

Taking a deep breath, he returned to his chair and tried to compose himself. He had read through his statement three times and was mindlessly flipping through Callaway's briefing pictures when Diana appeared, unlocking the conference room door and slipping inside. Peter switched off the screen and braced himself.

"Good news, boss." She smiled. "Caffrey's going to be okay. He was shot in the chest and he's got a tube to keep his lung inflated, but he could be out of the hospital in a week."

Peter returned the smile and relaxed in his chair, suddenly feeling exhausted at the release of tension. It wasn't the _best_ of news, but it was leagues better than he'd been imagining.

"If Mozzie doesn't break him out sooner... And James?"

"We found him in a bar drinking away his sorrows; he's sleeping it off now. We've got his gun, swabs of his hands, and his recorded confession – he's not getting out of this."

Sighing, Peter rubbed his face with both hands and leaned back in the chair.

"Is there any chance I could get a celebratory coffee?" Usually there was some in the conference room, but only empty teacups and hot water had been present to taunt him during his sequestration.

"Even better," Diana opened the door and swept an arm out in invitation, "you can get one yourself. Callaway has decided you're safe to roam around the bullpen – just make sure you don't call your fixer."

She winked and left him to wander out on his own.

Peter savored his mug of Bureau coffee. It wasn't Italian roast, but it may just be the best cup he'd ever had.

* * *

Visiting hours were too short. At least Elizabeth had been there when she got the call that James had been caught and was lying in an FBI holding cell after drinking himself senseless. Diana had high hopes that Peter would be a free man the next day.

June had come by soon after Elizabeth left, though the space was rather crowded with visitors for two of the other patients also in the room. She had assured him "Dante" was being kept informed, even if he wouldn't come within ten blocks of the hospital, and chatted about mundane topics until visiting hours were nearly over. The third roommate, alone in his corner, had broken through the din - laughing heartily at something on his television and startling Neal who had started to doze off. June had patted his hand and kissed his forehead, promising to return the next day.

Now he lay in the gloomy silence of early evening, waiting for his tray of questionable food items and the pills that came with it. His chest had started to hurt again and he fought the urge to rub it. The pain was making it hard to breathe, but not enough that he was willing to call the nurse in early. He tried to take a deeper breath and something stuck in his throat, setting off an excruciating coughing fit.

"Hey, man; you okay?"

The voice of his neighbor went unnoticed as he stared in horror at the dark, thick blood on his hand. The pain increased dramatically and he couldn't draw in enough air. He scrabbled for the button, knocking the remote off the bed and then fumbling for the one on the wall. He was getting lightheaded, vision blurring. Had he pressed the button yet?

Someone was shouting as his consciousness faded, then winked out.


	8. Chapter 8

"Neal... Neal, are you awake?"

Was he? Things were a little fuzzy, and he hadn't even opened his eyes yet.

"C'mon, Neal; I escaped prison, the least you can do is look at me."

_Peter?_

He tried to make a retort, but something stopped him. His body was definitely unhappy about whatever it was, but his mind wasn't quite to the point of grasping the situation yet. Still, that was definitely Peter staring at him.

"There you are. Don't try to talk yet – just listen to the nurse." Peter leaned back and a woman bent over him, smiling gently.

"Hey there, Neal. Your tube got clogged yesterday and we had to put you on a ventilator overnight, but we should be able to remove it today. I just need you to answer a few questions – blink twice for 'yes' and once for 'no', okay?"

Neal blinked twice.

"Great! Now, do you know where you are?"

_Yes._

"Do you know why you're here?"

_Yes._

"Are you feeling any pain?"

… _No._ Huh. That was a nice change.

"Do you feel any insecurity about breathing on your own?"

_No._

"Would you like to try?"

_Yes!_

"Good! Now, are you comfortable?"

He shifted a bit. _Yes._ As much as one could be in this situation.

"Okay. Try to relax – your friends have picked some music for you to listen to while we do this. As soon as I flip this switch, I want you to try to breathe normally. Are you ready?"

_Yes._

Neal's lips twitched as the sound of Sinatra's voice wafted over him. A gentle hand grasped his own and he noticed Elizabeth beside Peter, giving him a wobbly smile.

"I'm flipping the switch now."

He waited for the 'click' and took as deep a breath as he could stand, remembering what had happened the last time he'd been awake. When nothing untoward happened he started breathing with more confidence. The tube didn't make it the best experience, but it could certainly be worse.

"You're doing well, Neal – feeling okay?"

_Yes._

"Tired?"

_No._

"Good! Just a few more minutes to go."

Neal lay there clutching Elizabeth's fingers as "Ac-Cent-Tchu-Ate the Positive" played and the nurse documented his readings.

"There you are; all done. You were taking a lot of breaths on your own while you were out and your test went well so it looks like we can take it right out without having to worry about further weaning. Do you want to do that now?"

_Yes!_

"This may be uncomfortable, but try to stay calm and relaxed and it will be done before you know it. Ready?"

_Yes!_

"Okay, give me as strong a cough as you can."

Oh it was _definitely_ uncomfortable. Peter's hand wrapped around Elizabeth's and his own and Neal's leg muscles went rigid as he resisted the urge to pull away from the nurse or tear the tube straight out. After the cough came several seconds of gagging; then it was over.

"All done! Would you like some ice chips to soothe your throat?"

"Yes, please." His voice was a little rough, but it was a small price to pay for living through the night.

The nurse handed him a cup.

"Make sure you let them melt in your mouth; don't swallow them whole. Once you've finished that you can go back to water. Got it?"

"Yeah; thanks." He favored her with his brightest smile and she couldn't help but return the gesture.

"I'll be right down the hall if you need me."

He waved as she took the vent out with her.

"So what, exactly, happened to me last night?" Neal began nursing the ice chips as the Burkes eyed one another for a moment before Peter began explaining.

"A clot broke loose in your chest and clogged the tube so the blood built up and collapsed your lung. They gave you a slightly bigger tube this time to keep it from happening again." He paused to collect himself. "You probably would have died if your neighbor hadn't called the nurse."

Said neighbor hummed, obviously having heard the conversation.

"Thanks, buddy," Neal called, smiling slightly as the guy grumbled "yeah, yeah" and rolled over so he faced away from the group.

For a few moments the room was silent apart from the gameshow music coming from the corner. Neal decided the best coarse was to simply behave as if everything were normal.

"Just so you know," he smirked, "it doesn't count as escaping if you weren't actually _in_ prison to begin with."

Peter snorted, then grew serious.

"It's good to see you."

"Likewise."

There was an awkward silence until El pitched in.

"Honey, why don't you tell Neal what happened with the case?"

"Right." Peter shifted in his seat. "You up for hearing this now, Neal?"

"Do tell." He adjusted the bed so he was sitting up a bit straighter and could see them both more comfortably.

"Well, they woke James up this morning for his interrogation – he must have had a devil of a headache; they pulled him out of a bar yesterday passed out drunk. We already had his confession and evidence of gunpowder residue on his hands, so there wasn't much he could say to get out of it. He did seem... _upset_ that he had shot you . He doesn't know you survived."

Neal grunted noncommittally.

"Do you want us to keep it from him?"

He considered it for a moment.

"No." He might not be able to see the man as a father, and he _was_ tempted to have this mark a complete break between them, but he still didn't want James to be saddled with the guilt of a murder he didn't quite commit. "It'll all come out in the trial anyway."

Peter nodded.

"We have enough to get him without you there; you don't have to-"

"I'll testify."

Peter hung his head, rubbing at his brow. Silence fell again but it was the agent who decided to lighten the mood this time.

"Things got pretty dramatic the last time you were in court."

"Yeah..." Neal smiled wistfully, "but that was hardly my fault."

"True... mostly."

A crowd of visitors arrived for another of the room's residents and Peter stood to offer them his chair.

"I've got to get back to the office. I might not be under arrest, but I still have to explain why I was wearing your anklet. Which reminds me – a marshal came in this morning and gave you a new one. He wasn't happy that Callaway hadn't informed them of the situation sooner. He found the security 'woefully insufficient' and would have cuffed you to the bed if it wasn't for a particularly assertive nurse. It's a wonder he didn't wheel your bed out and try to confine you in a supply closet."

"Too many resources in a supply closet," Neal explained, glancing at the bulge under his thin hospital blanket.

"Of course." Peter rolled his eyes. "Good thing he left you here, then."

"Peter," Neal reached out and caught his friend's arm. "Thank you."

Peter nodded.

"Thank _you_ , Neal."


	9. Chapter 9

The next day Neal was moved to a chair to help prevent further complications and a respiratory therapist checked his progress. He was doing well and now had a timer set to remind him to do his breathing exercises every hour he was awake – ten sets of deep breaths followed by strong coughs.

Two days of this and he was deemed ready to have his chest tube removed.

_That_ had been a trip.

An intern had been sent in to take care of it and had doped him up a bit too well. He'd had to call in a pair of orderlies to hold Neal still as he belted out "High on a Windy Hill". Peter had come in soon after to find him picking at the bandage intended to keep air from getting into the hole and, after being told he couldn't do that, Neal spent the next hour smiling stupidly at the curtains around his bed. They were just so _fascinating_. Those swirls of color were genius!

He honestly had no idea what else had happened that day; in fact, he only knew that much because Peter told him the next time he came to visit.

...

"You said the curtains must have been done by Chuck Close." Peter smirked, barely containing his amusement at the state in which he'd found Neal the previous day. It had brought back some frightening memories at first, but that faded somewhere around the third time Neal had informed him they were best friends. Well, he'd actually looked in his general direction and said "Yer ma bes' fren", but Peter chose to believe Neal had known whom he was talking to at least.

Neal glanced at the polka dot fabric. "Those were some good drugs."

"Hm. Well, you won't be getting any more of those. Doctor Klaen says you should be getting out of here tomorrow."

The timer beeped and Neal obediently took a deep breath and coughed into a tissue, grimacing at the sputum he'd dislodged and replacing the sullied tissue before doing nine more reps.

"That's good." He leaned forward and flicked his eyes toward the patient in the opposite corner. "Maybe now I'll get a break from _Family Feud_."

Honestly, it was all the guy watched and he refused to listen to anyone else's input on the matter. Who knew the show was on nearly 24/7? Peter had heard plenty of episodes himself in the past few days, not to mention Neal's complaints on the matter. Each bed may have its own television, but that didn't mean you couldn't hear any of the others.

"Is it any worse than _Tiles of Fire_?" Neal's ill humor about this entertained him far more than it should.

"Did you know that four out of one hundred surveyed Americans would be embarrassed to see their grandmother dressed like Katy Perry?"

Peter had to pause at that image. No. Just... no.

"I'm sure that knowledge will come in handy at some point. Now," he looked at his watch, "I've got a meeting with Callaway's replacement."

"What? Callaway's getting replaced?" Neal winced as he sat up a bit too fast and Peter gently pushed him back.

"Yeah, turns out she _was_ accepting bribes from Pratt. Not sure what this will mean for our situations, but the office is a mess right now. You enjoy this peace and quiet while you can."

Steve Harvey laughed in the background after someone answered "gynecologist" when prompted with "a dirty job, but someone's gotta do it".

"Sure." Neal rolled his eyes as Peter made his exit.

June came later and was far more sympathetic to his plight. She promised to sing for him once he was back at home and told him she had a couch ready so he wouldn't have to go up all those stairs right away.

"You're too good to me, June." Neal smiled at her and she patted his hand.

"Not possible." She rose to take her leave and kissed his cheek. "I'll see you tomorrow."

"One way or the other," Neal agreed. He _really_ hoped he'd be having his afternoon chat with June in her home come the next day.

"20,000 dollars!" Yelled an enthusiastic competitor in the background.

Neal groaned and went back to considering what con would be most effective in getting rid of his roommate's tv.

Five episodes later and the Simmons family had four wins in a row and a chance to win a new car – it was also dinner time.

"Here you are, Mr. Caffrey," an unfamiliar man handed over his food.

"Thanks..." his focus shifted to an object taped to the underside of his tray. "Hey, wh-"

The guy was gone by the time he looked up. Well, he was already in the hospital, what's there to lose?

He pulled off the item and smiled when he found it to be a small universal remote.

"Thanks, Moz."

He waited until it was right before "Fast Money" to flip the channel.


	10. Chapter 10

Neal recovered quickly under June's watchful eye, though he refused to talk about James with her or anyone else past the bare facts of what had happened. He was allowed to return to work for a few hours each day and did so with relish – even though he was stuck trawling through files the whole time.

The matter of Neal's anklet winding up on Peter was mostly glossed over in the chaos of Callaway's removal and replacement, the new head willing to accept the story of a last minute proposal that hadn't quite worked to keep one Sarah Ellis from going to London. They called the days Peter had spent out of commission a disciplinary temporary suspension and considered it done with.

Sarah, for her part, had only received news of Neal's injury the day of his release from the hospital, having been without service for a few days before getting her number transferred to a UK carrier. She and Neal had had a long telephone conversation before he convinced her he was completely fine and there was no reason to come back and check up on him – even if he secretly wished she would.

It was another morning full of mortgage fraud when Peter called the CI up to his office – a rarity as of late since Neal still tired easily, though he was steadily recovering his endurance.

Peter motioned for Neal to take a seat then got straight to the point.

"James wants to see you."

Neal went rigid in his chair, unable to speak.

"His court date is set for next month and he says he doesn't want that to be the only time he sees you before going to prison."

Closing his eyes, Neal leaned back and took a moment to consider.

Even after everything that had happened, he wasn't entirely confident that he wouldn't be conned by James once more. He _wanted_ to believe it was impossible at this point, but still felt an aching need to be part of a family...

Peter's hand landed on his shoulder, gently squeezing it - an effective reminder that he already _is_ part of a family.

"No."

Peter nodded.

"Okay."

The agent straightened and sat in his own chair behind the desk, all business once more.

"I have some photos for you to look at," he pushed a file in front of Neal. "Think those are real Monets?"

* * *

"Mr. James Bennett, you are hereby sentenced to life in prison."

The judge's voice faded from Neal's hearing, his attention wholly devoted to the man who would have been his father. James stood with back hunched, cuffed hands hanging. He'd sent one pleading glance to his son when he'd first taken the witness stand, but had avoided his gaze ever since.

Neal didn't know how he was supposed to feel about this; both his mind and face were blank as James was led away.

"You alright?"

He almost jumped when Peter's soft inquiry broke his reverie.

"Yeah... yeah. Let's get out of here."

"Right."

Peter hooked an arm around Neal's shoulders and steered him out to the car.

"The doc clear you for alcohol yet?"

"Not if you mean beer."

Peter pretended to be offended, flicking the younger man's fedora to ruin its jaunty angle.

"Elizabeth got you something nice to go with dinner."

"Peter," Neal's eyes twinkled, "is your wife trying to seduce me?"

"Why not? My dog already likes you more..." Peter grumbled, pulling on his seat belt.

Neal laughed and Peter basked in the sound.

"But I'm telling you now: I get nights and weekends."


End file.
